


knowing me, knowing you

by andromedabennet



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Actress Clarke Griffin, Alternate Universe - Actors, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Famous Clarke Griffin, NYCC Comic Con Calls, Nerd Bellamy, Podcast, this is a modern au and i still made it about history okay sue me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 05:08:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28558116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andromedabennet/pseuds/andromedabennet
Summary: When Octavia told Bellamy she'd purchased him a virtual Comic Con video call with his favorite actress Clarke Griffin for his birthday gift, he'd honestly thought she was joking. Still, once she makes it clear that she wasperfectly serious, he resigns himself to going through with it despite how socially awkward it's bound to be for him.Until Clarke lets him know that she's a fan of his, too.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 41
Kudos: 332
Collections: The t100 Writers for BLM Initiative





	knowing me, knowing you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kguptill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kguptill/gifts).



> This fic is based on Bob Morley's Comic Con video chats back in October, which got me thinking about what would happen if he somehow recognized someone on the other end of the call (not that I was imagining it happening to _me_ or anything, most notably because I did not purchase one 😂)
> 
> The seedling of an idea was then prompted to be written by the lovely Kris through The 100 Fic for Black Lives Matter. You can donate to have your own prompts turned into stories or find out more about the project on our [carrd](https://t100fic-for-blm.carrd.co/).
> 
> Moodboard by the lovely [carrieevew](https://archiveofourown.org/users/carrieevew/pseuds/carrieevew).
> 
> Since I didn’t have a NYCC call, I don’t know how it actually worked, so I just did my best to make it up. Also, in this universe, they go virtual for accessibility reasons, not because of a pandemic (because I never want to remember 2020 or immortalize it in my writing 😬).

Bellamy wakes up the incessant buzzing of his phone somewhere in his sheets. He scrambles clumsily to find it, mind still half asleep.

“What?” He asks when finally managing to press the phone to his ear. Only a few people would call this early in the morning besides telemarketers, so he isn’t worried about offending anyone.

“Bell, are you excited?” 

“O, it’s—” he checks the time on his alarm clock. “—six in the morning. Why are you calling if no one is dead?”

“I’m leading the six thirty  _ rise and shine kickboxing _ class today, so I was already up. I didn’t want you to forget about your call today.”

“What call?” He racks his brain for what she might be talking about, but he’s sure he doesn’t have anything scheduled for today. It’s his first completely free day in weeks, and he’d planned to spend as much of it as possible lounging. It’s rare that he’s given a day that’s fully his own anymore.

“The one I bought you for your birthday gift — the call with Clarke Griffin!”

He rubs a hand over his tired face, needing to be more alert for this conversation. 

“I honestly thought you were joking about that.”

“Why would I—? You thought I just didn’t buy you a birthday gift?”

“I didn’t mind. I know you’re busy these days.”

“Not so busy that I  _ forgot _ your birthday!” She says with a huff. “I was dead serious about buying you this call. Do you need me to resend the email?”

“Yeah, I probably do.” He says in a daze, burying his face in his pillow. “What am I—? What do I  _ do?” _

“On the call?” She asks, confused. “Probably just say hi and chat? Ask her about her favorite movie role or something? I don’t know — it’s only three minutes. How awkward could you possibly be?”

He doesn’t bother to give that an honest response, because the answer is not flattering.

“Three minutes just feels like a long time to be confronted with how weird it is to have a conversation with a person I know a decent amount about while she knows literally nothing about me.”

“Everyone else manages it fine.”

“Yeah, because some people aren’t socially awkward, O.”

“Stop overanalyzing and just tell her you liked that movie where she’s a queen and she murders her husband. You actually complimented the historical accuracy of that film.”

“Mostly,” he says petulantly. “The clothes were more risqué-Tudor than medieval.”

“But they made her tits look  _ great.” _

“Octavia, oh my god! Don’t sexualize her when I have to talk to her later today! It’s weird.”

“You’ll have to look her in the eye, too. Or look somewhere, at least.”

“I’m sorry, it’s a video call?”

“Yeah, did you not listen to me when I explained this at all?”

“Uhhh…”

“God, just check your email. I’ll forward you everything again. It’s at 3:15 this afternoon, so don’t forget.”

She sounds a bit exasperated by him.

“Sorry, O. Thanks for the gift. It really is thoughtful.”

“Happy birthday, dummy. I know you like Clarke Griffin a lot, so just try to be normal and it’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, I’ll try. Have fun with your kickboxing class.”

She says goodbye before hanging up, and he rolls back over to get a little extra sleep.

Or he tries to, anyway, but there’s an annoying voice panicking in the back of his head about trying to talk to  _ Clarke Griffin _ for three minutes. Like there’s anything he could say that would be remotely interesting to a famous person.

***

He checks his email later that morning, wanting to understand how exactly he accesses this and when he needs to be online for it. The only thing worse than thinking your sister’s birthday gift was a joke is missing the time slot she booked because you’re incapable of simple technological tasks.

(And he’s not incapable, no matter what Octavia sometimes thinks. He’s just only good at doing specific things, which seems like the extent of computer knowledge that most people are working with. He doesn’t have to be Bill Gates to be a functional human being.)

_ Dear Octavia Blake, _

_ Thank you for booking an Arcadia Comic-Con virtual meet-and-greet call. In an effort to make Comic-Con a more inclusive experience this year, we are happy to be bringing the stars right to your home. _

_ On October 11th at your assigned time, you will have the opportunity to talk one-on-one with  _ **_Clarke Griffin,_ ** _ star of Star Wars: Wild Space. She will be taking questions about the show, so be sure to think of something to ask in advance! _

_ A moderator will help you through the process online, and a copy of your call will be sent to you electronically after it has concluded. _

_ We look forward to welcoming you to NYCC from wherever you’re joining us! Information about your specific time slot is listed below, along with instructions on how to access the portal. _

_ Best, _ _  
_ _ NYCC Team _

He reads through the accompanying information before walking away from his computer to get a glass of water. 

None of this makes him feel any better, but now at least he’ll only screw it up by embarrassing himself.

***

“Okay, so Clarke will be with you in just a few minutes,” the moderator says when he’s next in line. Her window had popped up unexpectedly, and he’d been mid-yawn when she’d appeared, startling him enough to have him sitting up straight and fidgeting with the hem of his shirt beneath the webcam’s view. “If you want to ask any questions, make sure you have them ready. The three minutes will go by quicker than you think.”

“Thanks,” he says, trying not to be weird. It’s a video call, so it should theoretically be low-pressure compared to meeting Clarke Griffin in person, but he feels awkward in his skin. What is he supposed to do? Should he look into the camera, or at himself on the screen? Will she expect him to know a lot more about her than he does? Or less than he does? He wiggles in his seat, trying to let out whatever strange feelings he has before he comes face-to-virtual-face with someone who is at least thirty times cooler than him.

“Alright, I’m just going to end her other call, and then she’ll appear here on your screen. One moment.” The moderator disappears from her little square, and he bites his lip.

He can never tell Octavia how truly uncomfortable he is about all of this. It’ll only either make her feel bad about her gift or make her laugh at him for being incapable of holding a conversation for one hundred and eighty seconds.

His screen is mostly black, the majority taken up by the empty space where Clarke Griffin will eventually appear. His own image inhabits a small section of one corner, where he can’t help but stare as he waits. What if his office space isn’t clean enough for a video call? Maybe he should’ve done this in the living room? More casual, less stuffy? 

He considers picking up his laptop and quickly relocating, but then his screen suddenly lights up, the black background replaced with what looks like a comfortable couch, a dog, and a blonde actress.

_ Should’ve gone for the living room after all. If it’s good enough for Clarke Griffin… _

“Hi!” She says, voice bubbly and welcoming. He can’t help but wonder how many times she’s had to do this exact same spiel today. It sounds exhausting. “You’re—” she squints at him for the first time, “probably  _ not _ Octavia, I’m guessing?”

“Oh, no.” He didn’t realize that she might’ve had a list of names, trying to anticipate who she would be talking to next. She’d probably thought he’d be a sixteen year old girl, which — to be fair — is a pretty major part of her fanbase. “Sorry, I didn’t realize that would be an issue. This was a gift from my sister Octavia.”

“No, it’s fine. Usually we can see if it’s a gift for someone, but the details for this one must’ve just gotten mixed up. What are we celebrating?”

“Birthday.”

“Cool, happy birthday from Octavia. Hopefully the gift lives up to your expectations.”

He laughs. “I’m sure it’ll exceed her expectations no matter what happens, because she’ll either get to brag about getting something out-of-the-box and thoughtful, or she’ll get to watch the recording of this call and laugh at me when I inevitably look like an idiot. It’s win-win.”

She smiles at him. “Glad to help, then, although I meant that I hoped it would live up to  _ your  _ expectations.”

“Oh, I don’t know that I really have any. I didn’t really have any grand plan going into all of this. I guess I just wanted to say that I like your films.”

“Films?” She asks, a little half smile quirking up one side of her lips. “Sorry, I had you pegged as a fan of the Star Wars shows.”

He laughs again, the smile on his face real. It’s not exactly an insult — being a nerd is sort of his schtick. Incidentally though, he doesn’t care all that much about the Star Wars / Star Trek / Doctor Who discourse that so many other people are focused on. His brand of geek has very little to do with sci-fi, which is just as well since most of the showrunners can barely pull off the genre anymore.

“Nah, not really my thing. But you’ve been in more than a few historical films that I’ve really liked.”

“Oh yeah? Which ones?” She looks like she’s running through a list of all her past projects in her head.

_ “She-Wolf _ was my favorite, just because I thought that they really nailed the accuracy of the time period for the most part. Costumes were a little more sixteenth century than they should’ve been, but I get that medieval dresses might not be as visually interesting for casual viewers.”

“I’m guessing you don’t count yourself among the casual viewers?”

He shakes his head, still smiling with a hint of embarrassment. “No, not really. Picking apart period dramas is sort of my thing. It’s why no one will let me choose what movie to watch anymore.”

“That sounds reasonable,” she laughs. “I wouldn’t have minded a slightly more authentic costume on that film. I’m told actual medieval dresses weren’t quite so uncomfortable.”

He doesn’t want to let his brain linger on the image  _ that _ produces in his head, so he just nods. “Might depend on how fancily they want to dress the actress playing the queen, but it definitely could’ve been an improvement.”

“Anything would’ve been an improvement if it’s less heavy. I definitely preferred the costumes in the pirate film.”

“God,” he groans, “don’t get me started on the pirate film.”

“It wasn’t accurate?”

“Uh, not particularly. The conversation your character Grace O’Malley had with Queen Elizabeth was really good, though.”

“That’s good — it was my favorite scene to shoot.” She tells him a little bit about the process of creating the scene, and it’s far more complex than he would’ve realized.

He assumes his time must be coming to an end — or maybe it’s even gone over at this point, considering how long they’ve been talking about relative nonsense. He hadn’t really intended to start ranking her films on accuracy to her face, but she hasn’t seemed bothered by it. If anything, she seems amused.

He goes to say something to wrap things up, realizing that this would be a good place to stop himself before he can go any further, but her eyes stray from where they’ve been locked prior to now, seeming to be keyed in on his surroundings.

(In fairness, it is rather hard to tell when you’re conducting a conversation over webcam. If she’s looking at him on her screen, it means she  _ isn’t _ looking into her camera, so her eyes always seem like they’re slightly elsewhere, but that’s nothing new. Now, though, they seem glazed over, shifted slightly to a new angle that makes him think she’s focused on something else.)

“Bellamy?” She asks, apropos of nothing.

“Uh, yes?”

He realizes suddenly that he never gave her his name, only saying that it clearly wasn’t Octavia.

His eyes widen.

“Wait, how did you—?”

“Sorry, I recognized—”

“Hey, guys, sorry to interrupt. This call has gone a little long, so I’m going to have to send Clarke to her next appointment. Mr. Blake, your video will be sent to the email address used for original purchase.”

A little timer appears at the bottom of his screen, counting down from five, which doesn’t give either of them a lot of time.

“Bye, Bellamy! It was really nice to meet you!” Clarke says quickly, trying to beat the timer.

“Wait, I—”

Then the screen goes black, and the moderator asks him if he has any other questions about the process.

“No,” he says gruffly. “I’m good.”

He ends the call completely, closing his computer to stare numbly at the wall in front of him. He has  _ no idea _ how Clarke Griffin randomly pulled his name out of thin air, sounding like she knew him, but it’s going to haunt his thoughts for the rest of the day.

At least Octavia will get the video emailed to her first. Surely there’s a lot to make fun of in there.

***

His phone rings exactly eighteen minutes later.

He first thing he hears when he answers is, “What the fuck?!” 

“Hi, O.”

“I mean, seriously:  _ what the fuck?” _

He sighs. “I don’t know.”

“How in fuck’s name did she know who you were? I watched that video three times and you never once mentioned your name.”

“No idea.”

“She looked like was having a premonition right before she said it.”

“Maybe she was,” he shrugs. “Makes about as much sense as anything else.”

His phone buzzes against his ear, the vibration pattern signaling that he’s received an email.

“Was that you?” He asks.

“Was what me?”

“Got an email. Thought maybe you were forwarding the video to me.” He pulls his phone away to put her on speaker phone so he can access his inbox.

“No, I haven’t sent it yet. Give me a second.”

“No rush — it’s not like I’m eager to relive that so soon. I just thought maybe—”

He breaks off, looking at his latest unread message.

His phone’s email app has access to three different accounts: his personal email, his work email, and his podcast email.

And, to be frank, he doesn’t get a lot of use out of the podcast email. Unsurprisingly, a podcast where he gets drunk and tries to teach his friends about historical topics has a pretty niche audience, meaning that that particular inbox is never very crowded.

Right now, though, it’s the only one with anything new in it. 

He clicks through to see what he’s received. It’s almost always spam or a message from his hosting service anyway.

Instead, he sees:

**From** : _cegriff_ _  
_**To:** _Mr. History Podcast_ _  
_**Subject:** _sorry for the scare!_

“Hey, O — I think I’ll have to call you back,” he says absently, eyes not leaving the screen.

“Oh?” She asks curiously. “Was that work then?”

He makes a little affirmative noise, not wanting to go through the effort of either lying or explaining. Luckily, Octavia seems keen not to get sucked into another conversation about the museum he works at, so she says a quick goodbye and hangs up.

He taps the email on his phone, opening up the message.

_ Bellamy (I think) — _

_ Sorry for the abrupt way your call ended. I didn’t notice it at first, even with your voice and all the historical talk, but right at the end I saw that you had the cover art for your podcast hanging on the wall behind you. I actually found your podcast right after I was cast as Grace O’Malley because I wanted to do research and your show seemed like the most interesting way to start the process. And then I sort of just kept listening. _

_ So… I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m a fan of yours, too. Funny how that works. _

_ Sorry again if it messed up your video. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to make it up to you. _

_ xxx, _ _  
_ _ Clarke _

His eyes nearly bug out of his head.

Clarke Griffin —  _ Clarke Griffin,  _ who is so beyond him in his mind that he can’t even call her by just her first name because it feels too weird and familiar — listens to his podcast. Is a  _ fan _ of his podcast.

He needs a drink.

***

“So you’re saying that the hot Star Wars girl listens to our show?” Murphy asks that evening over pizza.

“My show. And yeah, apparently. I still can’t really wrap my head around it.”

“Hey, I’ve been the person subjected to your drunk teaching more than any of our other friends, so I claim part-ownership of this endeavour.”

“You come over, drink alcohol, and make fun of both the historical subject I’m teaching about and me for caring so much. The only difference between the podcast and a regular Thursday night is the presence of a microphone. I don’t think it’s actually a struggle for you to be involved.”

“No, but your fans like me best of all your guest hosts. I’m betting Clarke does too,” he smirks. “So I think I should get to say  _ our podcast _ from now on.”

Bellamy shakes his head. “How did this get so off topic so quickly?”

“Ask Clarke if I’m her favorite,” Murphy orders while chewing his food.

“No way. I don’t even know if I’m going to email her back.”

“If you don’t, I will. I know the password to your email.”

“What?” He asks, eyes going wide. “No you don’t. You’re bluffing.”

“Dude, you told me that your password to everything is the name of your first crush. Your fault for being so transparent.”

“Okay, but that doesn’t tell you anything. You didn’t know me as a kid.”

“Amelia Earhart,” Murphy says easily, stealing another piece of pizza from the box.

“I meant school crush.”

“No you didn’t. Your first crush was Amelia Earhart and it’s more embarrassing at this point if you try to lie about it.”

Bellamy frowns. “It’s not her name.”

“Of course not,” Murphy says, looking up at him with a smile. “The first A in Amelia is a four and the E in Earhart is a three, obviously. Gotta meet those character requirements.”

“Oh my god, shut up. Now I need to change all my passwords.”

“What, so they can all be Cleopatra with a zero for the O? Nah, don’t bother. I’ve known this for years and never messed with anything before. Just email back your celebrity listener, ask if I’m her favorite, and I won’t have to break the streak.”

“Cleopatra would’ve been a one for the L,” he grumbles.

“Why, because she’s number one?” Murphy mocks.

“I’m sorry, do you know how many languages that woman spoke?”

“Very much  _ not the point. _ Please just email Clarke Griffin so I don’t embarrass you by shouting her out in my next episode.”

“I do all the editing. I’d just cut it out.”

“I’d say her name every other word so we’d never get anything accomplished.”

“Jesus Christ,  _ fine. _ I’ll email her back. Are you happy?”

Murphy just sits back on the couch, finishing off the crust of his current piece. He’s got a look of triumph on his face, which is hardly fair when he consistently uses such underhanded tactics. “Yeah, I wasn’t that invested anyway.”

Bellamy rolls his eyes. “Sure,” he says, before tacking on a mumbled, “Fucking worse than Octavia, I swear.”

***

He tries to play it cool, but he also doesn’t want to seem bored or unimpressed by the whole thing. After all, it is pretty cool to have a celebrity listening to his podcast, but he doesn’t know how to express that in an email without sounding slightly psychotic. It’s a hard line to walk, but it’s not like they’re friends anyway, so he guesses the worst case scenario is just that she thinks he’s a bit odd.

Still, that doesn’t stop him from drafting the email three separate times, finding each attempt more unbearable than the last.

_ Hi Clarke, _

_ Thanks for your email. Definitely solves a mystery that gripped both me and my sister for several embarrassing minutes. My best bet was that you’d seen a ghost behind me and they gave you the name, but even I recognize the limitations of ghost-communication over a webcam. _

_ I’m flattered (?????) that this very stupid podcast was useful to you for your research, and also that it’s funny enough to keep you listening now that your research is done. I’m not even really sure what to do with this knowledge now, honestly. _

_ Murphy, self-proclaimed star of several episodes, would like to know if he is your favorite of the hosts. I made it clear that nobody on earth should have that opinion, but he’s still convinced it’s the only logical conclusion. _

_ No worries about the video — I’m sure Octavia will find this all very amusing once I tell her. She’ll brag about this birthday gift until I’m dead. Even then, people might still be stuck hearing about it. It’ll be a very self-aggrandizing eulogy. _

_ Best, _ _  
_ _ Bellamy _

He keeps trying to change parts of it, thinking it sounds too familiar or silly or  _ something, _ only he isn’t sure what to put in place of anything he might delete. He ends up staring at the email unhelpfully for a solid ten minutes before impulsively deciding to just hit send, consequences be damned.

Of course, he immediately regrets it as soon as it’s gone, but if gmail offers a way to unsend a message, he hasn’t figured it out yet.

Maybe Octavia is right about him being a luddite.

Part of him hopes she never responds, because it’ll put the whole thing to rest. They aren’t penpals, so there’s no need to keep this up. She emailed to explain how she knew him, and he emailed back to thank her for the explanation. That’s it.

Although he had asked the Murphy question, which he supposes is a rather overt indication that he’s hoping for a response.

Only he  _ isn’t. _

Except… well, never getting a response would make him worry that he’d scared her off. He wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about what he’s done wrong and how he could’ve just been less weird about the whole thing.

He bows his head, blowing out a frustrated huff of air.

This would’ve been the ideal time to know how to play things cool.

Too late.

***

_ Hi Bellamy, _

_ Glad the actual explanation was something less world-altering for you than ghosts, considering that (if I remember correctly) you talk frequently on your show about how you don’t believe in them and don’t think the ghosts of historical figures are out there haunting people. _

_ Sorry to disappoint your friend Murphy, but Raven and Octavia are tied for my two favorite guest hosts, and you, of course, are favorite overall. Maybe if he pairs up with Raven for an episode, I’d be more interested. _

_ Then again, maybe you shouldn’t tell him that. I don’t know if it’s smart to encourage his ego? _

_ Any chance you’ll be doing something on Catherine the Great sometime soon? No reason why officially, but I may need to do some research that direction in future. _

_ Looking forward to your new episodes. _

_ xxx, _ _  
_ _ Clarke _

He’s not saying he adds Catherine the Great to his list of future topics  _ immediately _ after receiving her email, but that’s only because her name had already been there.

(And why not? It’s just good taste to have all the badass queens on standby.)

But he does bump her name to the top of the list, so that’s something.

Two weeks later, an episode goes up on the aforementioned Russian Empress — with guest hosts Murphy and Raven, who get into a hilarious drunken squabble over Catherine’s history of sexual promiscuity which is so unusual for a female ruler of her era. Clarke sends a very effusive email the next day thanking him for the information and for keeping it interesting.

He isn’t sure if she’s already locked in for the unofficially mentioned project, but he really hopes he gets to see her in that role. There’s something about her acting that he  _ knows _ would be perfect for the job.

He laughs at the thought of knowing any of this insider knowledge as if he’s someone important. The truth is, he wasn’t nearly prepared enough for whatever twist of fate had brought  _ Clarke Griffin _ into his life.

(Although more and more she’s beginning to feel like just Clarke to him.)

***

They keep in touch casually through November, mainly with the excuse that she has questions — for absolutely  _ no reason at all,  _ she reminds him — about Catherine the Great. Sometimes, she just wants to mention something funny that happened in the other various episodes from his podcast backlog that she’s listening to at any given point, laughing at the weird shit that his friends say when they’re drunk and trying to understand old-ass political conflicts.

He asks after her Thanksgiving plans in the polite, detached kind of way you do with internet friends, and she mentions having to do some work in LA while her mom will be in New York.

So naturally he tells her to let him know if she needs some extra entertainment to put her in the holiday spirit. He’d said it jokingly, and yet that’s how he ends up with her personal phone number programmed into his contacts.

***

“Bellamy, it’s Thanksgiving — put your phone away,” Octavia chastises, passing by him to get to her seat on the couch.

“Why? We’re not eating for another hour anyway, so there’s no rush.”

“Because we have  _ guests?” _

She gestures around them like it should be obvious, as if she doesn’t constantly text no matter how many people are over. Sometimes she’ll text in the middle of someone trying to tell her a story, so he doesn’t think she gets to be on her high horse about this.

She tries to reach for his phone, but he leans away. “Who are you even talking to so obsessively? It’s not like you’ve had a date in the last year.”

“Oh,” Murphy says, head popping up from the other side of the coffee table, having laid down on the floor in front of the tv as soon as he’d arrived. “It’s probably just Clarke.”

Every head in the room — Octavia, Lincoln, Raven, Miller, Emori, Harper, Monty, and Jasper, so not an insignificant number of heads — turns to him at this news.

“Clarke  _ who?”  _ Octavia asks carefully. “Clarke from work that you’ve never mentioned before? Clarke who you maybe bumped into at the grocery store? A regular, normal Clarke, right?”

The others just watch with curiosity, having been privy to the video recording of his call with Clarke. They’d all teased him about it for a day or two and then probably forgot the whole thing ever happened.

He’d only mentioned anything about her being a fan of the podcast and contacting him to Murphy, mainly because he couldn’t keep himself from telling  _ someone. _ Murphy had just been the first face he’d seen in the aftermath of the original email.

It would’ve been smarter not to tell anyone, honestly. He doesn’t want to make a big deal out of having a celebrity listener (or, his brain reminds him, a celebrity friend). They’ll just end up being weird about it.

“Murphy,” he groans.

“Oh shut up. If I was casually texting a movie star on Thanksgiving I would brag about it to everyone I know. You wouldn’t be able to meet me for more than five minutes without hearing about the time I was so nerdy I accidentally conned a hot celebrity out of her phone number.”

“You  _ what?  _ Is he serious?”

“It’s not a big deal, O. We’re not even really friends. She just listens to the podcast and recognized me from there during the call. My podcast email is public info — I shout it out every episode. She decided to let me know how she realized who I was that day.”

“And then she just kept messaging you? And you didn’t think to mention it?”

Octavia goes on about how fame really changes a person and what it’s going to be like when her brother’s married to a movie star. He just rolls his eyes at her theatrics. He’ll rein her back in to normal expectations once she’s tired herself out.

The rest of his friends poke fun at him, but they clearly have a more level-headed understanding of the situation, so he mostly takes their jokes with good humor.

At least until after dinner, when he’s texting Clarke Thanksgiving memes and asking about her day, when she texts him back a message he hadn’t been expecting at all.

_ Thanks for keeping me company today. I really don’t know what I’d do without you. _

Her next message is a string of about six heart emojis.

(Exactly six. He’s not sure who he thinks he’s kidding by acting like he didn’t count them more than once, just to check if his eyes were playing tricks on him.)

But no, there’s six. All in a line, all red.

It probably doesn’t mean anything, though. They’re emojis — it literally costs nothing to throw a few of them in a message. It’s friendly at best.

Only she’s never sent red hearts before, or any hearts at all. So Bellamy really can’t be blamed for thinking about it for the rest of the evening.

***

By January, they’re talking almost daily. It’s nothing serious — not really. Little things about their days, just small joys and petty grievances. He spills coffee (thankfully already cooled) all over his white shirt. She shows up twenty minutes late to an important meeting with her agent. They’re the type of conversations that are constant without ever being too deep, and he doesn’t mind that they’re staying close to the surface.

It’s just nice to talk with her, really. Clarke is, above everything else, fucking great company. Smart, down to earth, and shockingly funny.

**Bellamy:** **  
** Have you ever considered doing a comedy show? Your humor is being wasted with the melodramatic Star Wars writing

**Clarke:** **  
** only if youre paying for my improv classes, blake :P

One day, when he’s sitting in the little square outside the museum eating his lunch in order to enjoy the rare sunny winter day, another message from Clarke pops up on his screen.

That on it’s own wouldn’t be at all unusual — she texts him at all hours of the day, whenever she can get her hands on her phone. It’s what it says that leaves him baffled.

**Clarke:**   
are you alone? can anyone see your phone right now?

If Clarke was his girlfriend, he’d probably assume she was about to send something moderately to severely scandalous. But since she isn’t his girlfriend, and she’s not drinking, and it’s not a weird time of day where people are more likely to lose their inhibitions, he really can’t even hazard a guess as to why she’s asking.

**Bellamy:**   
Yes??? I’m on my lunch break now.

**Clarke:**   
perfect   
don’t show this to anyone or i’ll prob get sued

And, yeah, that doesn’t really relieve him of any worries, but at least the onus is on him. He knows he can keep a secret, whatever it is.

(Unless it’s murder. A person’s gotta have some principles.)

Nine images come through in rapid succession. Each shows either a selection of stunning dresses or — even better — Clarke wearing the stunning dresses. 

**Clarke:**   
period appropriate enough for you?   
these are tester fittings for the role you definitely don’t know about so keep these to yourself! top secret!

His eyes go wide, mainly because — for perhaps the first time he’s personally witnessed — the gowns look absolutely perfect for Russia circa 1745.

And Clarke looks perfect in them too, but it’s difficult to stop focusing on the  _ accuracy.  _

Then he gets to the one that really shows off her breasts, and… yeah, maybe it’s not that difficult to get over the accuracy and focus on what’s more important.

**Bellamy:**   
So you got the job???   
Officially?

**Clarke:**   
i cant talk about it publicly until they announce casting but i signed all my contracts a few weeks ago and there’s pre-production stuff happening now!!!!!   
hope youre ready to teach me some history because this ones going for authenticity 

**Bellamy:**   
Always for you

He regrets the candor for a split second, but then his phone starts to  _ ring, _ her name popping up across the screen. It’s never done that before.

“Hello?”

“Bellamy!”

It’s the first time they’ve spoken in the literal sense since the New York Comic Con call months ago, and yet it would be impossible to forget the sound of her voice after seeing so many of her films. She, too, must know the sound of his in a manner far too familiar for friends who reserve all communication to texts. After all, she has listened to his entire backlog of podcast episodes. 

Once she starts talking, it’s a veritable whirlwind of information. She tells him about the costumes and the fitting and how excited she is to play one of his favorite historical figures.

He just smiles, letting her lead the conversation wherever she wills it to go.

When he has to finally end the call, needing to head back to the museum to lead another tour, he actually feels a bit sad. He hopes it isn’t the only chance to talk to her in this way.

(And, in the coming weeks, he learns it certainly  _ won’t  _ be the only time she calls. Her casting in the big-budget Netflix film is announced publicly and production begins in earnest. She calls him near-constantly to talk about everything from getting the character right, to her day, to  _ his _ day, to basically whatever else they can think up. He finds that he doesn’t mind the calls at all.)

***

“Okay, everyone: that about sums up today’s episode. Luckily we’ve made it to the end because Murphy is shitfaced and I don’t think he could handle any more learning.”

Murphy gives Bellamy a betrayed look before leaning as close as he can to the microphone. “It’s fine, I’m fine. Everything’s fine. Hatshepsut fucked her brother and her stepson was a little bitch. I remember. I got it. Learning is easy.”

Bellamy can’t help rolling his eyes. “Sure, sort of. Anyways, thanks for listening. I hope you all learned more than Murphy did. On another note, I’ll be at Podblast in LA next month. I’m not speaking on any of the panels but I’d love to do a meetup if any listeners are going, so feel free to reach out and let me know if you’ll be there.”

He throws out the podcast contact details and signs off, excited to end the recording before Murphy tries to get in any last words.

Editing audio that includes drunk Murphy is always the least exciting part of the process. It’s better for him when the recording is as succinct as humanly possible.

The episode goes up three days later, and he hardly thinks anything of it.

A few people actually do reach out about the podcast conference, which is honestly a surprise considering the relatively small audience he has. It’ll be nice to chat with a few listeners. Podcasting is a surprisingly solitary experience — the episodes go out into the internet void and then you can only hope that someone provides feedback. Meeting people in the flesh will be an exciting change of pace.

***

When he finally makes it out of the first panel he’d decided to attend, he wanders aimlessly around the huge convention center. 

Even knowing just how popular podcasting is as a creative platform, he honestly hadn’t realized just how many people would turn up for an event like this. In his head, podcasts are still one of those things that most people either don’t understand or find annoyingly douchey.

(And, admittedly, some podcasts  _ are _ pretty douchey. For Bellamy, it’s about curating the shows you like to avoid the shit ones entirely.)

He’d met up with a few listeners at the start of the day, chatting over coffee about the show, the things that they’ve enjoyed, and more about who they are. Gabriel from Sacremento, Gaia from Philly (who must like podcasts a  _ lot _ to travel so far for this event), and Luna from Portland. It’d been a cool experience to meet them, though it’s always easier to keep the idea of listeners a sort of faceless, anonymous blob in his mind.

Now he’ll probably always wonder if Gabriel from Sacremento liked his latest episode, and that’s a new problem to have.

Still, he’s smiling as he walks around the main showroom, picking up free merch from the bigger shows who bothered with their own tables. It’s a fun experience to be surrounded by people who enjoy podcasts, even if the shows on offer aren’t always what he’d listen to.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and it’s only because he’d stopped to lean against a nearby wall that he even feels it.

When he pulls it out, there’s a text from Clarke, which in itself is not out of the ordinary.

The weird part is that there are no words — the only thing in the message is a picture of him. Not even a facebook one, which would constitute some level of internet stalking but would be permissible by most people’s standards.

No, it’s him from the back, wearing his own blue henley and leaning against a white wall in the showroom.

He turns around in shock, wondering what and how and  _ why, _ but before he even gets the chance to consider the ends to any of these questions, she’s standing before him, a head shorter and wearing an oversized hoodie.

“Hey, stranger.”

_ “Clarke?” _ He asks, voice shocked at the suddenness with which she’s appeared. Despite how long they’ve been talking, he’s always felt that they lived in two completely different worlds, merely amusing themselves with a glimpse of how the other half lives.

“Shhhh!” She says quickly, looking around to make sure no one is watching them. “I’m in disguise.”

“Not sure it’s a great disguise, princess.”

The words come out surprisingly easily given how tongue-tied he feels.

“Princess?” She asks, taking his hand to pull him along through the rest of the showroom and towards the Starbucks.

“Well if you’re in disguise I need a name for you. Hence princess. Like Catherine the Great, ya know… before she became great.”

She looks at him with an affronted face. “You don’t think I’m great?” His eyes go wide, but she smiles at him before he can put his foot in his mouth further. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. Although really if you’re going back to the princess days, you should probably call her  _ Sophie of Anhalt-Zerbst.” _ She sounds proud of herself for getting the pronunciation (mostly) right.

“Oh my god, Know-It-All, I know she changed her name,” he says, giving her shoulder a light shove. “You’re forgetting  _ I _ taught you that. Anyways, that would be an awful codename.”

The teasing makes it easy to forget that this is the first time he’s meeting his casual internet friend Clarke — who happens to also be famous actress Clarke Griffin, though he spends most of his time trying not to think too much about that. If he lets himself go down that rabbit hole, he might never find his way back to the surface.

She orders them coffees in a voice that’s not quite her own, careful to keep her hood up and her blonde hair pulled back in it’s bun.

Once they have their drinks in hand, she leads them to a quieter corner of the building to sit, and he asks her why and how she’s here.

“Honestly, despite all the time we spend talking, I was completely convinced that you lived in New York.”

He makes a face at her. “New York? Why?”

“I don’t know!” She laughs. “I should’ve realized that attending a virtual call for New York Comic Con had no bearing on where you were actually living, but I never put two and two together. And anyways, I know a lot about the museum you work in and all your crazy coworkers, but I don’t think you’ve ever mentioned which museum it actually is. New York has a lot of them, ergo I made an assumption.”

“No,” he smiles, “although I can see why you’d be led to that conclusion. I live just outside LA and work in a small museum nearby.”

“So this whole time we’ve been, what, an hour apart at most?”

“Well sometimes you’re away for business in other cities.”

She rolls her eyes at him. “Yeah, but not all the time. I didn’t know we were so close until you mentioned coming to this event.”

“I announced I was attending a month ago. Why didn’t you say anything before now?”

She takes a sip of her drink before flashing him another smile which he sees reflected so earnestly in her eyes. 

“I figured it would be funnier to surprise you.”

“Well, consider me surprised.”

***

After finishing their drinks, they take another spin through the main convention itself. She asks if he wants to attend any other panel events for shows he likes or tips for improving indie podcasts, but he says he’s happy just to walk around with her for the rest of the afternoon.

“Don’t let me keep you from any events you planned to do before I got here,” she says, looking up at him carefully.

“You’re not. I’d just rather be spending time with you.”

The pleased look she gets at those words is not lost on him, and he feels a little flutter in his chest that he’s been trying for a very long time not to think about when it comes to Clarke.

Eventually, they decide to leave the convention, having seen everything that was worth seeing already. 

“Do you want to grab dinner while we’re here?” He asks, which he considers to be a suitably friendly question. They’re already out, so it only makes sense to eat together if they’re hungry.

“I’d love to, but restaurants are always such a hassle,” she says, and he nods quickly.

“Of course. I hadn’t even considered how annoying it must be to get recognized.”

“Nobody recognized me today. Or at least nobody made a production of it if they did, anyway. But what I actually meant was, would you mind stopping back at mine and just getting something delivered? It’s not as exciting as a night out, but it is a lot more under the radar. Plus, I have Netflix, so…”

He smiles. “Sure, I could go for takeout. Chinese? Indian? Pizza?” 

She laughs, grabbing his hand again to lead her to where she’s left her car. “I’m an impeccable host, so I’ll let you choose from my veritable collection of takeout menus.”

The chicken chettinad he eats that night on her couch is the single greatest meal he’s ever had — better than any five-star restaurant that only a being a celebrity or giving a blood sacrifice could get you into.

When it comes time for him to leave, she walks him to the door of her top floor apartment.

“This was nice,” she says as he puts on his jacket. “We should probably do it again sometime without having to stage an ambush to do it.”

“Well your schedule is probably weirder than mine,” he laughs, “so just let me know when you’re free.”

“Alright, it’s a date.”

He hesitates in the open doorway for a moment, but just as he’s wondering if he’s completely lost it for wondering if she’s waiting for an end-of-date kiss, she steps forward to place a gentle one to his cheek.

“Thanks, Bellamy. Have a nice night.”

That night, for the first time, he allows himself the pleasure of thinking about the kiss and what it could mean for as long as he likes. He’s spent so long trying to convince himself that there wasn’t really anything there, but he thinks this situation has moved beyond trying to pretend away any potential hints of flirtation.

Whatever this is, it  _ is. _

He wants the joy of allowing it to be.

***

Despite having arguably the best maybe-date of his life, they don’t get a lot of chances to talk in the next week. She texts him when she gets a moment, but her schedule this week has her doing five straight days of night shoots. They spend most of the time playing phone tag, two ships passing in the night.

Still, it doesn’t dampen his spirit, if only because of how effusively apologetic she sounds whenever they do manage to catch each other.

“It’s fine, Clarke, really,” he laughs into the receiver. “If you were using work as an excuse to avoid me, you probably wouldn’t be constantly calling to tell me you’re sorry.”

“Still, it seems rude to be ignoring you so often.”

“I don’t think  _ sleeping _ qualifies as an avoidance tactic. Anyway, you’ve caught me now.”

“Yeah, but now you’re about to go to sleep. I shouldn’t be bothering you.”

“I’ll let you know if you’re bothering me. Until then, assume I’m happy to be talking.”

It’s endearing, in a silly way, that she’s just as shy and awkward about this whole thing as he is. 

He listens to her talk about the scene they’re shooting tonight — apparently there are a  _ lot _ of horses and extras involved, but she isn’t allowed to tell him what the actual event they’re depicting is.

(When he guesses that it’s the night Catherine the Great rode out at the head of the Russian army to overthrow her husband and make herself empress, she just makes a little noise in the back of her throat, which makes him laugh.)

“I can neither confirm nor deny that that’s the scene.”

“But it is,” he teases.

“Maybe.”

“I bet the military dress they’ll have you in will be awesome.”

“Yeah,” she says, voice suddenly breathless. “And I look great in it, too.”

He swallows heavily. “I believe you.”

By the time they get the conversation back to something more standard (really, they can’t follow the line of thinking her words might’ve taken them to considering she’s in a  _ hair and makeup trailer _ at the moment), he finds himself growing more and more tired.

His eyes drift involuntarily closed as he listens to her voice, and it doesn’t take long before, through the haze of his exhaustion, he hears a quiet, sweet, “goodnight, Bellamy.”

***

She invites him to the set the following week as her guest, which is something that he hadn’t even really considered being possible.

He’d known in some objective part of his brain that movie stars could occasionally have close friends and family come to visit them if it wasn’t, like, a Game of Thrones-level spoiler situation.

Still, he’d never thought he’d be close enough to a movie star to warrant putting that knowledge to use.

She leads him around the set when she has free time in the afternoon, showing him some of the dresses in the costume department, the wigs, and some of the interiors of palaces they’d built for filming. Stepping into a recreated past is probably for history nerds the equivalent of how children feel going to Disney.

He is able to stay and watch a few scenes being shot, including a kiss between Clarke’s character and one of Catherine the Great’s many  _ (many) _ lovers.

When the day finally concludes, she invites him back to hers for dinner, and they shamelessly watch  _ A Knight’s Tale, _ the most irreverent take on a historical film ever, and possibly the only one to truly do it justice.

By the end of the film, he’s sitting on the couch and she’s laying next to him with her head in his lap, her face looking up at him. “You know, you’re different than I expected.”

“Because I’m much more handsome than your average nerd?”

“No,” she smiles. “I’m not really sure what I thought you’d be like. I guess I didn’t have a lot of expectations when I first realized you were the guy from the podcast I listen to. I mean, I knew you were funny, but it’s not like I thought much about who you were outside of those episodes.”

“And now you do, I assume?”

She sits up, her face only inches from his. “Now I spend all my time thinking about you.”

His eyes drop to her lips. “You should probably… probably spend some time… thinking about your lines instead.”

She leans in, her lips ghosting across his.

“Would you rather I be doing that right now?”

He leans in to kiss her before he can even get out his own very emphatic  _ no. _

But by the way her fingers immediately twist themselves into his hair, he figures she’s on the same page.

He has to say, as far as kisses go, it’s better than any romance scene Clarke’s ever done.

***

**[2 years later]**

“I’m going to try to stay out of your way all day — I know you’ll be busy the whole time.”

“Bell, it’s not like people don’t know about you by now,” she laughs, tugging him in for a kiss. “I couldn’t possibly have hidden you forever. And anyways, fans know we live together.”

“Yeah, but they paid a lot of money and I know how quickly a three minute call with you goes, considering you had to search me out afterwards just to finish what we couldn’t in that amount of time.”

“I don’t imagine I’ll be tracking down anyone this year. I only did that because I was your fan.”

“I was your fan first.”

“I’ve been acting longer than you’ve been podcasting; that’s hardly my fault! And anyways, I get to be your number one fan, so it all works out.”

“Am I not your number one fan?”

“God, no. You’ve seen the stalker fans. They are definitely pulling more weight than you.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Stiff competition. Not sure I can beat them.”

She smiles. “That’s okay. It’s probably best that my  _ fiance _ isn’t among their ranks.”

“Anyways,” he says, stressing the word, amused by how off-topic they’ve gotten, “my point is that I’m going to try to not accidentally drop into any of your calls. If I need in the kitchen I’ll just sneak in carefully so no one sees me.”

Her eyes roll as she laughs. “Whatever you say. I’m sure the Star Wars fans won’t be upset if you need a glass of water.”

He walks away, teasingly grumbling about how intense literally all Star Wars fans are all the time.

He manges to keep out of the way for an hour, at which point he tries to tiptoe behind her to feed the dogs and she purposefully turns her camera to face him, making a joke to the person on the other side about how ridiculous he is, though the smile on her face when she says it is impossible to misinterpret.

The fan must’ve found something about that funny or cute though, because suddenly (he assumes through the power of twitter fandoms), every person who calls requests a Bellamy guest appearance in their three minute window.

But he has to say, being chased around their house by Clarke and a succession of her fans is his second favorite ending to his own Comic Con adventures.

(Though Octavia is quick to never let him forget that the outcome of his  _ first _ favorite Comic Con adventure is really all her doing. She says loudly at his wedding that she is truly the best birthday gift giver of all time.

And it would be difficult for him to disagree.)

**Author's Note:**

> All I gotta say is...... wow, I really make any story historical. Sorry about that.
> 
> (But Bellamy and I agree that you can never know _too much_ about baddass historical women, so....)


End file.
